


Baptisms of Fire

by x_medea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chubby Inquisitor, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, Slowmance, This protagonist is gonna l e a r n, fatphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-02 10:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_medea/pseuds/x_medea
Summary: When the Trevelyans are summoned to the Conclave, they send their heir and his new wife to represent their interests. But after the explosion, only Anne and her unborn baby walk away.Now Anne has to learn how to fight, lead, and be a mother in the Inquisition.Kink Meme fill for this OP.





	1. My Ansburg Love

**Author's Note:**

> Some info for you, if you're starting to read.
> 
> 1\. I'm updating every Saturday.  
> 2\. This is a revision of my original story, under the same name. I'm going through and editing my old fic. You don't have to have read the other, I'm fleshing out the original's bare bones.  
> 3\. Thank you to my very kind and patient beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).  
> 4\. Feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!  
> 5\. Please, please feed me comments. I thrive on comments.

After over two weeks of travel, Anne Trevelyan thought Haven might have looked more worth it. The tiny city of tents surrounding the walls seemed larger than the village itself. Turning her horse down toward the lake, she looked back up at it. Even from a low angle, it was hardly impressive.

 _Smaller than Papa’s smallest demesne_ , she thought. The Chantry at the top of the hill was certainly striking, but only for such a small town.

Max dismounted to pass their missive to the soldier. Anne was distracted by her armor - no banner or colors. Anne had expected the Conclave to be guarded by the Chantry’s Templars.

“We’re to stay in the Chantry tonight,” Maxwell announced, coming over to offer his hand. Anne smiled and slid gently down from her sidesaddle as Max’s manservant, Charles, set the grooms went to work with the horses and baggage.

As they walked through the gates, Anne looked back at the soldier and began, “I thought…”

“It would be bigger?” He smiled, looking down at her.

Anne laughed. “Well, yes. But I thought we were here for a peace talk?”

“Well, we are. But it is still a war.” He rested his other hand on his sword. “The mages and Templars won’t come without arms.”

“Then who do these soldiers serve?”

Max looked uneasy. “I’m not sure.”

Another soldier stopped them at the Chantry doors, then had a Mother lead them through the hall. Walking through it was unnerving; there were at least fifty people, but almost none of them were talking. Instead they seemed to mill around each other, some with purpose, some without. Anne clutched Max tighter without realizing it.

At the farthest end of the hall the Mother bent and opened a door with the keys on her belt. It was threadbare, with only two small beds and one lantern.

“We ran out of rooms at the Temple. This will have to do,” she said, already turning on her heel and leaving.

Anne sighed. It would have to do. Sitting on a bed, she craned her neck back to look at her husband. “I’m not sure you’ll fit, Max.”

His broad face broke into a smile and shut the door behind him. “No?” Leaning down, he cupped her face gently. “You know, I always did want to make love in a Chantry.”

Anne burst out laughing in his kiss. “I thought Trevelyans were all good Chantry boys.”

Coming to sit beside her on the bed, Max trailed kisses sweetly down her neck. “All good Chantry boys think bad thoughts. That’s why we go to the Chantry.” Sliding an arm around her, he whispered in her ear, “We need to atone.”

She couldn’t help but giggle as they tried to fit on the bed. She rolled up onto one elbow to see his feet stuck out over the edge.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

Lazily stroking her hair, he conceded, “It’s not. Don’t know how I’ll achieve peace without a proper night’s sleep.”

A smart knock on the door brought them out of their moment. Max huffed but got to his feet to open the door. Charles and some of the men from outside were bringing in their cases.

“Against the wall,” Anne said, gesturing to the farthest corner.  
  
Rubbing his hands together, Max said, “Charles - what do you think they have in the way of supper?”

Tess, Anne’s handmaiden, sidled into the room. “They say there will be a feast tomorrow, but tonight the tavern will be serving.”

Anne bit her lip. It was strange whoever was hosting would not open the peace talks with a feast. Surely the Chantry could spare the money, especially with the Divine in attendance.

“Would you like to rest? I could bring some food back for you,” Max offered.

Anne nodded. “Yes, it’s been a long journey. You go, I’m not hungry yet.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, then walked out, taking Charles with him.

Anne instinctively let her cloak fall, knowing Tess was behind her to take it.

“Did we pack any furs? It’s too cold to sleep in here without a fireplace.”

“No, milady. I’ll ask if any can be brought.”

Anne hummed her thanks. Stripping off her travelling clothes, she chose her warmest dress. It would wrinkle when she slept, but at least she would be warm.

“Lay Max’s warmest clothes out for him tonight. I need a rest.”

Rolling down to the bed, she tried to smooth the dress out as much as possible. Tess moved around her, softly singing to herself. It was Anne’s first real experience out of the Marches, certainly her first real participation as Lady Trevelyan. Had it only been six months since their wedding?

Her mind went to the banquet her parents had in their honor, with Trave Manor covered in flowers, firs, and lanterns. Her hair had been plaited with orange blossoms, with a wreath for a crown. Her husband’s lady mother had made such a fuss about having Anne wear her tiara from her own wedding, but Anne wouldn’t have it. Ansburg may be rural and backwater to most nobles, but it the flower crown was Ansburg tradition, and Anne was proud of her heritage.

Couldn’t some flowers be spared for their room? She almost ordered Tess to find her some, but then she remembered the terrain. Half the mountain couldn’t accommodate trees, let alone flowers. And all that Maker-cursed snow. Sighing, she raised her arm to act as a pillow. Perhaps she had packed poorly, and they had been expected to bring their own pillows and furs. But it hadn’t seemed logical to bring the whole household on parade.

And a parade it had been anyway, with their trunks and grooms. She had always known nobles were expected to show their capability to manage their lands and people with their household, but it had been such a headache. Overseeing their small horde through a turbulent ship journey, a five day carriage ride on the Imperial Highway, and then on foot and horse onto the mountain itself had exhausted her.

Maybe she finally lost a little of the weight her husband’s mother kept nagging her about. Although her own mother had told her having extra weight would be good for a baby, when they had one.

She shook her head, setting off pins and needles in her arm. Bringing it down, she clumsily reached for Tess as she was passing.  
  
“Could you bring my fur-trimmed cloak? We’ll need something to cushion these beds.”

Tess brought it to her and tucked it neatly under her mistress’s head. “Sleep well, milady.”

Anne hummed her thanks again, letting sleep carry her off.

* * *

   
It was late when she woke. Or at least, it felt late. There were no windows, and the Chantry seemed even quieter than before. Tess had lit a candle, but Anne couldn’t remember how tall it had been when she had fallen asleep.

“ _Where the stream sings lullaby,_  
_There blows a lily fair._  
_The twilight gleam is in her eye,_ _  
The night is on her hair…_ ”

 _Oh, that’s what woke me up_. Rolling over, she found Max knelt next to her bed.

“Good - you’re awake. I can skip to the good part.” Anne laughed softly; she loved it when he sang to her.

“ _And sometimes when the beetle’s horn_    
_Has lulled the eve to sleep,_ _  
I steal unto her..._ ”

“That’s the good bit? Not the part where I have your heart in thrall?” she whispered, stroking his face.

“No, no, no, it’s when I steal unto you and peep through the door.”

Reaching for him, she sighed happily against his mouth.


	2. Götterdämmerung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this fic is gonna be faithful to the game, it's not gonna always be a straight retelling of the video game. There's a lot of emotional pieces moving at the beginning, so this chapter pretty much follows the Wrath of Heaven. But after this, it won't be so strict and similar to the game.

Something wet and cold was on her head.

_No, my head is on something wet and cold._

Heavy chains clinked as Anne raised her head off the ground. Pressing her palms to the dank ground, she started to push herself up, but something jerked her hands back with a heavy clank. Anne looked down to see her wrists shackled to the wall.

Anne’s stomach dropped.

The bottom of her dress and shoes were soaked in the bilgewater that surrounded her. Looking around, she saw that she was alone in a cell with three walls and a set of bars. Someone was holding her prisoner. Anne’s breath caught tight in her chest. Who had taken her? Why would they? Could it have been the mages? How much was she even worth in ransom?

Screwing her eyes shut tight, Anne forced herself to control of her thoughts. To be practical.  _Start at the beginning_ , she thought slowly,  _what is the last thing you remember?_ She and Max had woken up and broken their fast at the tavern...they had gone up the mountain to the Temple...they had met with a Lady something and Lord someone...they had…

A dull ache washed through her head. Her mind felt wrong, almost hollow. It took such effort, chasing each disappearing thought. Wincing at the effort it took to think about it further, Anne felt something itch under her nose. Leaning over her hands, she scratched it only to find it was wet. Moving so she wasn’t blocking the light from outside the cell, Anne looked down to see a dark, almost black liquid. Blood.

There was a shriek of rusted hinges being forced open, and a woman’s voice echoed through the cell.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Anne’s back straightened. Guards were encircling her, guards with their swords already bare. The woman who had spoken entered the cell in full armor, her voice harsh and demeaning. No one had ever spoken to Anne this way before. There was the clean sound of a sword being drawn from a scabbard, and Anne’s attention fixed on the woman’s sword, pointing at her chest.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed. Everyone who attended the Conclave is dead.” The woman stopped pacing to look down into her face. “Except you.”

None of those words made sense. Anne couldn’t comprehend them together.

Destroyed…

Dead…

_No, no, that’s impossible. I was there, we were meeting people and talking...we were…_

As she pulled at her memory, trying to think of what came next, something from deep inside her boiled up. Her body rolled, as if to vomit.

The woman made an annoyed noise. The cold tip of the woman’s sword rapped against Anne’s left wrist. “Explain this.”

Anne’s eyes widened in horror. Splitting her palm, straight through what a fortune teller had once said was her life line, was a crack of green light. Now she that she had looked at it, she couldn’t stop feeling it. The green was burning through her fingers, her hand, her wrist, sparking into her forearm.

She fell backwards, trying to distance herself from her unrecognizable hand. “No...no...no…”

Something inside her hand lurched forward, taking Anne with it. There was a burst of green across her mind’s eye as pain lashed up her arm. The bottom of her stomach roared up and Anne’s breakfast was on the floor before she understood that a different woman was holding her hair back.

Soft, gentle hands were stroking her hair. “What do you remember?” the woman asked, her voice kind, like…

“Max,” Anne whispered.

The other two women exchanged looks. Then the first woman sheathed her sword, saying, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to a rift.”

The second woman gave Anne an inscrutable look, then nodded and left.

“Get up.” The first woman hauled Anne to her feet, unlocking her manacles. It might have been a kind gesture, if it hadn’t been followed by one of the guards replacing the shackles with rope and pulling it so tight it pinched her wrists.

The woman and her guards marched Anne out of her cell, then up a flight of stairs. It took Anne a moment to recognize where they were - the cell had been under the Chantry. Her room was just feet away...if she could just go there she would surely find Charles, Tess, Max _..._

 _They must_   _be in there._

Anne tried to make for her room but the woman gripped her tighter. “B-but Max?” Anne asked, looking frantically over her shoulder.

“He is not there,” the woman said sternly, refusing to look at Anne.

Another wave of nausea swept over Anne. Something in the woman’s tone was more unsettling than everything else.

Two guards pushed the doors open for them as they trooped outside. Anne hesitated at the precipice. There was something wrong out there, she could tell. The faces, the horses, the armor, it was all the wrong color. Everything had a sickly green tint to it. The guards forced her to keep walking, pushing her into the putrid color.

“We call it the Breach,” the woman said, looking up to the sky.

Anne followed her gaze. “...Andraste preserve us.”

Above the Temple, gouged through the sky and rippling with green, was the same light that infected her hand. The wounds were identical, down to every jagged gash. Something needy pulled at Anne’s green hand, and she found her bound hands reaching towards the sky.

 _It wants something,_ she felt vaguely.  _It wants me…_

“It is a massive rift in the Fade that grows larger with every passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest.”

The woman was pulling her through a throng of people, but Anne didn’t see their glares and disgust. Her head and arms were still trained toward the sky. She desperately wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, the green wouldn’t let her. The Breach spewed a volley of putrid hail over the valley as searing green cut through her vision. Anne’s bad hand screamed, but it wasn’t until she was on her knees, shutting her mouth, that she realized she had screamed with it.

Tears had slid down her face, but she barely noticed.  _Max is still up there..._

The woman took her roughly by the elbow, leading her up the mountain towards the gate. “Each time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” The woman gave her a coldly appraising look, clenching her jaw. “We must test your Mark on a smaller rift.”

The woman gestured for three soldiers to join them, then unsheathed her sword. Anne flinched, stepping backwards into the soldiers.

“My name is Cassandra Pentaghast,” she said, taking Anne’s hands and slicing through the ropes. “If you run, I will kill you.”

Anne nodded wordlessly.

The three guards flanked them as they walked through the gate. There was a path, but it was lined with debris - smoldering carts, fallen trees, discarded armor. Soldiers were passing them, their faces grimy and vacant.

It wasn’t until they turned into a small valley that she saw the first dead body. Anne had seen dead people before, but none who died from combat wounds. And this person had been eviscerated. Their coat was flapping open in the wind, with their guts in a pile on top of their body.

Anne stopped in her tracks, her mind struggling to understand. Two of the soldiers pushed past her while the other shoved her down next to the body.

Once again, she found that all she wanted was to look away, but she couldn’t. The wounds didn’t look right. It looked like it had been caused by claws - a wolf? A bear? Her good hand reached out, dazedly miming the wound pattern. Her stomach lurched. Wolves and bears paws had four claws. Only human hands had five fingers.

Anne’s body scrambled backwards, trying to stand and run but stumbling over her still-wet dress. One of the soldiers grabbed her by the collar, choking her, as he brought his blade up.

Cassandra and the other two were running across a frozen stream, toward two hooded somethings. Anne’s mouth fell open in horror.

They were whole, they were real, but they somehow weren’t. Instead of walking, they floated and oozed green; instead of fighting with weapons, they used their own blood-crusted claws and breathed ice.

The first soldier ran at one and bashed it with his shield, trying to put the thing off-balance. Instead it came at him, pushing him down. It landed a large gash on his thigh before the other soldier stabbed it from behind. Black, inky fluid sprayed out as the thing howled and the noise drove all the air out of Anne’s lungs.

Her hands reached up to her guard’s hands on her collar, scrambling and scratching him desperately. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t be here, she had to get away.

Cassandra roared as her sword crashed down and through the the last thing. It died with a shriek and black blood exploded everywhere.

Anne’s guard let her go, and her body reeled backward at the loss of stability. Her right hand came up to cover her nose and mouth. The ichor smelt. Maker, it smelt like blood and pus and something cloyingly sweet.

She was scrabbling to go back down the hill on her knees. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she babbled. “I’m supposed to be at the Conclave, Max and I are supposed to be there.” She was shaking madly, she knew it. From the cold, from the smell, from the fear…

Cassandra pulled her to her feet roughly, then turned her around.

“Please - let me go - ”

Cassandra pulled her close and grabbed Anne by the face. Anne’s wide dark brown eyes met Cassandra’s determined grey ones.  _“Do you want to live?”_

_Or die?_

The other half of the question hung in the air. Those were her only choices. She could live or she could die, but she had to choose.

 _Live!_ her body screamed.  _Live and find Max_.

“Yes.”

“Then you listen to me.” Cassandra pointed up the hill with her sword. “There is a rift up there. I want you to hold onto Cutler and do not let go.”

As they crested the hill, Anne saw something shimmering in the air. The rift burned brightly, almost like a fire, but entirely the wrong color. Nearly a dozen people were fighting more  _things_ around it.

“I’ve got the wraith,” a dwarf shouted, firing off his crossbow.

Anne and Cutler hung back, Anne clinging to his metal-covered arm.

A bald elf was cutting through one of the clawed things with a staff, shooting off blasts of fire. In the back of her mind, Anne could feel something like rational thought wondering why a mage was being allowed to fight.

He suddenly turned, as if he heard Anne, and stalked toward her. She dug her nails in around Cutler’s armored bicep as the elf tried to wrench to her forward by her bad hand.

“We have to move quickly,” the mage shouted. “Give me your hand!”

Cutler pushed her off as the elf dragged her forward. She wanted to snatch her arm away, to yell at him for daring touch her, but something was buzzing in her ears and under her skin. It was like her left arm was thrumming as he brought her closer to the rift. Instinct took over. As the mage thrust her arm forward, Anne made a grabbing gesture at the rift.

There was a feeling like two magnets trying to decide if they were opposed, then the rift snapped closed with her fist.

Anne doubled over, clutching her hand.  _It should have hurt_ , she thought. It shouldn’t have felt good. Panting, she rubbed her forearm. It almost felt as if the green had receded a little.

“What,” she said, turning to the mage, “is this?”

He leant against his staff, almost casually. “It is a Mark. Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that Mark upon your hand. I theorized it might be able to close the rifts. It seems I am correct.”

“So it can it close the Breach?” Cassandra asked.

He smiled grimly. “Possibly.”

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The dwarf came forward, offering Anne his hand. “I’m Varric Tethras - rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

But Anne’s mind had stopped several moments before. “D-demons?” she repeated, disbelieving. “Those  _things_ are demons?”

Everyone exchanged looks. “Andraste’s tits. You didn’t tell her, Seeker?” snapped Varric.

Cassandra cocked an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to question her.

“Yes,” the mage said. “The rifts are allowing demons to cross into our world from the Fade.”

Anne shook her head at him. “No,” she said, a hysterical note in her voice. “No. Demons can’t enter our world. They need a human, they need  _a mage_.”

“Tell that to the Breach,” huffed Varric.

She wanted it all to be a dream, but she had never smelt anything so potent as the demon blood they were all splattered with now. She couldn’t have made that up.

“Some Seeker of Truth you are,” Varric continued. “Not telling her the whole story.”

“She was not ready.”

Varric looked up at Anne and his face softened slightly. Sighing, he put a hand on Anne’s arm. “What’s your name?”

She jumped at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Anne.”

“Just Anne?”

“Lady Anne Trevelyan.”

“Right. You stay with us, Lady Anne. Solas, the Seeker, and I, we’re gonna get you through this.”

Anne looked down at the dwarf’s hand, then to his kind face. What else was there to do? She nodded.

It wasn’t three minutes before they found themselves at a rift just in front of a closed gate. The others took up positions while Anne stood next to Cutler.

Knowing the things were demons helped; she could understand everyone’s urgency now. And she could share it, too - Max was still up at the Conclave. He could be surrounded by demons. He would need help, the help she was bringing. He always carried the Trevelyan sword, but she had never seen him use it.

Anne found herself wanting to fight with the others, but she knew she would just hinder them. Only the tear of light in her hand could help and it felt like it  _wanted_ to.

This time when the rift was ready to close, Anne was prepared. As the last demon screamed, she felt the hum rise up through her arm and into her head, compelling her to reach out and snatch at the rift. As she closed her fist around the green, she realized it didn’t feel good exactly, only quieter.

Cassandra ordered someone on the opposite side to raise the gate, which turned out to lead to a bridge up towards the Temple.

Anne could see the second woman from before - Leliana? - arguing with several men on the far side.

Varric and Solas stopped to replenish their supplies while Cassandra joined the arguing group, but Anne kept walking towards the opposite gate. She had to keep going, moving, getting closer to Max. There were rifts up ahead and there wasn’t time for squabbling.

As she sidestepped the argument, a small man in Chantry robes split off to stand in front of her, stabbing his finger in her face. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry,” he yelled, “I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Anne flinched, trying to move around him. But Cassandra put her arm out, catching Anne across the chest.

“‘Order me’? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” Cassandra scoffed.

The Mark flared with a rupture in the sky, making Anne’s eyes water as she clenched her fist.

_We don’t have this time to waste -_

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry and you  _will obey me_.”

_\- Max is up there, he needs help -_

Leliana shook her head. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”

_\- stop stop stop -_

“Justinia is dead! We must elect her replacement, and obey her orders on the matter.”

“ _Do you want to live?”_ Anne snarled, echoing Cassandra to the Chancellor.

Before he could answer, she pushed Cassandra’s arm out from in front of her and to keep walking. A soldier in an unfamiliar set of armor reached out and pulled the Chancellor away.

Leliana only raised her eyebrows. “We can either charge directly up the path,” she said, “or take another path through the mountains.”

Cassandra shook her head. “We lost an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”

Before anyone could say anymore, Anne stepped forward. “We charge.” The sooner they got to the Temple, the sooner they could save Max.

The Chancellor seemed to want to say something, but the tall soldier put a hand in front of him. Cassandra and Leliana exchanged looks, then nodded.

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley,” Cassandra said, moving on through the gate. The other woman nodded, and turned to a runner.

The trek up the mountain pass was surprisingly quiet, they met no further rifts or demons. For Anne, every step became increasingly difficult. She hadn’t had to walk the entire way that morning. They’d taken a cart, then. Now her feet were achingly cold in her soaked shoes and her empty stomach rumbled loudly, making it that much harder to concentrate. But she had to keep going, she  _had_ to, for Max.

The outer gate for the Temple rose in front of them as they crested the last hill. Not far behind them, troops were marching up the mountain, led by Leliana. There was a crash of green above them, and a rift opened in front of them.

The fighters in their group swarmed forward, joined by Leliana’s soldiers. The sounds of battle were becoming more familiar to Anne now - she could tell this time that they were winning handily.  Cutler was suddenly next to her, bringing her closer to the rift as the others cut a path for her. Blood and ichor swirled around her as the green in Anne connected to the green in the rift. She felt the tight battle for control in her marked hand, and the rift slammed shut above them.

“Lady Cassandra!” a man yelled. “You managed to close the rift?”

Anne turned to see a tall man in fine armor helping a limping soldier.

“This was the prisoner’s doing, Commander,” Cassandra said, cocking her head in Anne’s direction.

The man’s eyebrows went up as he surveyed Anne. His eyes were hard and dark, with no trace of pity. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of good people getting you here.” His eyes went behind her, to the camp next to the gate. Anne turned to follow his gaze and saw a Chantry clerk standing over several rows of neatly laid out dead. Any color left Anne's face fled.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade,” Cassandra said. “They say there was a woman behind you - do you remember?”

 _The Fade?_ Anne’s stomach rebelled. She had walked in  _the Fade?_ She shook her head dumbly, staring at the covered bodies.

She found herself next to them, staring at the white sheets. Who had these people been? Where was Max?

She went to uncover a body, but the clerk stopped her, only shaking his head. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, uncomprehending. If Max was one of them, she wanted to see him.

“We must press on,” the elf mage said, coming to stand next to her. “We must try to close the Breach.”

Anne only shook her head.  _No._ “I have to find Max,” she whispered.

The bald elf only shook his head. “You won’t find him.”

It wasn’t said unkindly, but it was a slap in the face nonetheless. A nasty feeling of emptiness burst through her chest, as though she couldn’t get enough breath. Clutching at her face, Anne could only shake her head, looking around desperately.

Her eyes landed on a blackened sword in a nearby pile of armor and weapons near the bodies. Even with its battered and charred appearance, there was no mistaking the horse of the Trevelyan crest carved into the pommel stone - this was Max’s sword.

The air truly left Anne’s lungs in that moment. It was a soft sound, a defeated sound. Max would never abandon the Trevelyan family sword. Taking it slowly from the pile, Anne held it to her body.

“We must make for the Temple,” the Commander ordered from the front of their group.

“Not the time, Curly,” Varric snapped, walking over to Anne. “My Lady,” he said quietly. “It’s time.”

Tears ran down Anne’s face as she shut her eyes, trying to shut out the world. “You have to walk with us,” he told her, and she felt his hand resting on her arm again. He led her gently through the camp, explaining what she needed to do. “Come through the gate,” he murmured.

Anne had stood here, in this exact spot, only hours before, with Max, but then there had been a set of carved oaken doors here. They had walked through them together, marvelling at the ornate carvings, and Max had made a joke about trying to blaspheme here, like they had in the Chantry the night before.

There was almost nothing left. Everything was in pieces. All around them were charred halves and quarters and less of bodies, still frozen in the positions they died in. Kneeling, praying, some running away. Pieces of the walls still stood, but barely. And the stone - the stone had burned. How could that happen?

Anne fell forward onto her hands and knees, retching. Her body wracked itself, as if desperate to bring up something. But there was nothing left in her.

She couldn’t hear the murmurs being passed amongst their group, not over the roar in her own ears. She rocked back onto her knees and pressed her snow covered hands to her face, but couldn’t feel the cold. There was only the sick heat that permeated the shell of the Temple, and the smell of death.

Max couldn’t have survived this. He wasn’t up here, waiting for her to rescue him. No one could have -  _should have_ \- survived this.

Cassandra was right - everyone was dead.

This time, when Cassandra pulled her up, it was much, much gentler. She held Anne’s face firmly again as she asked, “If we take you down there, will you be able to close it?”

It didn’t seem possible. The explosion, the Breach, the demons, the Fade - it couldn’t all be real. Again Anne wanted it all to be a dream, but it clearly wasn’t. She had never been this imaginative. Whatever else was happening, she was clearly trapped in a war that everybody else had started. Anne felt her head nodding. Cutler came up and supported her as they moved through the Temple and followed the stairs downward.

She couldn’t feel anything anymore, only the buzzing cutting through her body as they got closer and closer to what she knew was the Breach. Green shimmered high in the air above her. It felt quiet, as if peacefully resting.

“The rift is closed,” Solas told her. “But it is only temporary. You must open it in order to seal it properly.”

“We must open it to close it?” Cassandra repeated, confused.

Solas nodded. “It will not stay closed like this, we must assault it directly and shut it with the mark.”

Cassandra shook her head at that, but began ordering the soldiers into position. “Form a circle under the Breach, archers to the high ground.” She looked back at Anne and Cutler. “Once you open it, get to the high ground, behind the archers.”

They were directly under the Breach now. “Seal this,” Cassandra said, “for all our sakes.”

The green loomed far above her, now swirling and twisting in the light, as if it could sense it was in danger. Anne slowly raised her marked hand, trying to connect with it. It was nervous, almost twitchy now. The Fade was just through it, she needed to find it. Her mind instinctively opened, and a torrent of chaos broke loose.

A massive demon passed through the rift, but Anne couldn’t see it. The green was filling her up, in her mind, in her arm, in her body. Swords and shields clashed around her, fighting off the monster, as Cutler dragged her away. But the world was gone, Anne was trapped in the in-between. There was green and light and fear, hers and others.

As the battle turned against the demon, Anne’s body started thrumming. Her skin felt like it was boiling with green energy. The green was everywhere. It had invaded her, corrupted her.

When the demon finally fell, it took everything she had to raise her fist and bring the rift down.

The buzzing was gone.

Maybe she was free…

“Max?” she whispered, before the world went dark.


	3. Hear the Mountains Cry

It could have been a minute later, it could have been a year, when Anne woke up. There was a quiet moment as she rolled over, ready to tell Max about the strangest dream she’d had, where her hand was full of light, but then -

Anne sat bolt upright. Sitting on Max’s bed were Tess and the elf mage, the one who knew about the Breach and the Mark.

For a moment, all she could do was stare wildly, trying to pull her thoughts together. Her hand - if it was real - if it _happened_ \- the green… With her eyes on the two elves, Anne shakily turned her left palm upwards. The green was still there, humming with light. It all came crashing down on her with a shuddering gasp and Anne’s thoughts spiralled, twisting and pulling her mind in every direction: _Max is dead--no, he is alive--it wasn’t a dream--it_ had _to be a dream--Max!_

Her eyes landed on a blackened metal object leaning on the wall next to the door. It would have looked out of place no matter where it was - even on the battlefield, where Anne first found it. Flashes of blood, ichor, and viscera flooded her mind’s eye. The explosion...it had left Max’s sword battered and charred. The sword made it all real. Too real. The Temple was rubble and everyone was dead.

“No.”

It was a broken sound, as if her voice could sense its own futility. There were no words, no gestures, that could measure the grief hollowing Anne out. Max’s sword, his family’s broadsword, passed down from generation to generation since the Glory Age, was a ruin.

The elf - Solas - followed her stare and rose from the bed. As he lifted the heavy broadsword, he whispered something to himself. Anne watched him as he brought the sword forward, his face full of what she could only call aloof sorrow.

Anne understood a moment before he knelt in front of her, carefully presenting the sword to its rightful owner’s widow.

“Where is he?” she whispered. “Where is his body?”

“Milady,” Tess said, sliding off the bed to kneel next to her, “there was no - that is, we never found…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence, Anne understood, and her sob cracked her chest open.

A small part of her knew she couldn’t just go to pieces like this, especially not with an elven audience. But the lion’s share of her heart was clasping Max’s sword to her chest, sobbing bitterly over it all. What had Max suffered in his last moment? It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t _fair._

“Perhaps we should leave you,” Solas offered, his face full of hideous pity. It made Anne want to scream. Why he hadn’t left sooner, she couldn’t guess.

But Tess shook her head, coming to kneel next to Anne. “Milady, please,” she said. “You mustn’t…you should know...”

Anne’s jaw tightened, she _mustn’t_ anything. Her eyes went hard as she looked at her city elf. Just as she was about to say something cutting -

“She is right. There is one last thing.”

Anne’s head jerked to look at Solas, his face now empty and polite.

“You are with child,” he told her.

* * *

 

Whatever reaction they had expected, it probably wasn’t for Anne to ask them both to leave. They were barely out of the room when Anne fell onto the bed, tears streaming down her face.

A baby…

As a couple, of course she and Max had prayed for this. Max was the youngest, but the Trevelyans had only had girls before him. And now she was carrying the Trevelyan heir with no Max to raise it with. They had asked for Andraste’s blessing, but there was no more ‘they’. It was so unfair, so cruel. A baby and no husband. What kind of Maker gives their faithful servant widowhood, motherhood, and a curse all in one day?

Anne choked on her tears, jerking off the bed. The green...her baby…

She flung the door open: “Solas!”

The elf was at other end of the nave, almost to the exit, when she called after him. He turned slowly, as if in defiance, and swept back up the Chantry. Anne’s face flushed a splotchy red as she tried to wipe away her tears.

Turning to lead him back into the room, Anne shut the door behind them. “The green - the Mark - can it - will it -”

“If you are concerned for the child, I believe you are both safe,” he said flatly.

Anne let her good hand fall to her belly as she looked from the Mark to Solas. “It’s safe?”

The elf’s brow wrinkled slightly. “It is contained.”

The green had filled her, though, like an overflowing vessel. It didn’t feel contained.

She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud until Solas asked, “Where else have you felt it?”

Anne gripped herself, unable to look him in the eyes. “Everywhere,” she whispered.

Solas considered her carefully. “I am a healer and an expert in the Fade, but I am not a midwife. I felt no magic inside you, beside the Mark. I sensed your child - it felt healthy and whole. If the Mark has not damaged the baby before now, I doubt it will.”

Anne nodded mutely. At least the baby was protected by the Maker. “How far along?”

“Two, perhaps three months.”

Anne’s brown eyes met the elf’s stormy ones, a small sense of relief washing over her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

It was only a moment, but Anne could have sworn she saw a flicker of disgust. “I have done nothing for you to thank me.” He gave her a small nod, then left the room.

As the door shut, Anne felt an overwhelming wave of loneliness sweep over her. All the emotions and circumstances bore down on her as she sank down onto the bed again. It didn’t seem possible, it didn’t seem _livable_.

She was so alone. She was so tired.

With barely another thought, she lay her head down and fell asleep.

Anne awoke some time later. Tess had lit a candle and was knelt next to her bed. “There’s to be a memorial in an hour, milady,” she said softly. “We should get you ready.”

She sat up and let Tess move around her - undressing her, washing her, plaiting her hair. Anne let Tess guide her through the motions. The elf had already set out Anne’s darkest dress - a dowdy woolen thing Anne had been avoiding the whole trip - and helped her mistress into it.

Anne’s eyes were vacant. She felt like a skipping stone - dipping into her grief every so often, then soaring into numbness again. When they were finished, Tess held the door for her, letting Anne know it was time.

There was a gentle glow in the Chantry. Countless people lined the walls, all holding candles.

Anne felt mechanical as she walked into the nave, as though she were a puppet of the Maker’s. Only he could be guiding her, because Anne wasn’t doing it on her own. The armored woman from the day before stood waiting for her with two stones and two lit candles. Behind her were Leliana, the Commander, and a finely dressed woman.

As Anne took her stone and candle from Cassandra, Leliana moved to her other side to flank her. _The Right and Left Hands of the Divine_ , she had heard somewhere, a long time ago. Faint whispers echoed off the walls, words like “Andraste’s chosen” and “the Herald”. People were bowing, but Anne was only looking down into her little flame.

The Grand Chancellor from the mountain came to stand in front of them. With a somber hymn, he began to lead them out of the nave, down into the village. The people followed behind, intoning the psalm.

As they passed through the doors, Anne realized there was still a garish tinge to everything. Looking up, she could see the Breach still there - no longer seething and churning, but still clearly etched in the heavens.

Bile rose up in Anne’s throat. She hadn’t closed it. It wasn’t finished.

But there was peace in ritual, Anne discovered. The funeral rites didn’t change, no matter the number of dead. It was easy to slip into the Chantry songs and prayers and forget her troubles. Soldiers lined their path, each with a torch to help light their way. The Chancellor led them through the soldiers’ path, past the gates, down to the lake where three pyres had been erected by the shore. People continued to stream down to the lake, their candles little lights floating down the mountainside.

When all the villagers and soldiers had arrived, the Chancellor began the service. It was strange to hear a man intone the prayers, but clearly there were no Mothers left. Tears began to roll silently down Anne’s cheeks. So many dead, so few bodies left…

_I should have died. I should have died with you, Max._

_“No.”_

The voice from inside stunned her. It was Max’s. So firm, so deep, so annoyed...

 _Don’t be angry with me_ . It was so easy to imagination herself begging him. _I just…_

 _I miss you._ She closed her eyes, picturing him standing behind her, maybe one hand over her belly.

_“You’re carrying our child - if you died, so would she.”_

_She?_ She looked down and rubbed her abdomen. _Yes,_ she decided. _She_. It’s going to be a girl. A little girl, with her father’s unruly brown hair and blue eyes.

She looked over her shoulder, as if into his eyes. _We’ll need a name for her. A good one._

 _“How about Brunnhilde?”_ he would tease. _“I hear it’s a very popular name in Ansburg!”_ His laughter would carry over the frozen lake, echoing off the mountains like the Chancellor's invocations.

 _No!_ Anne would yell, because of course she would take him seriously. _We can’t name our daughter that! That’s something your maiden aunt would be called!_

_“How about Dya for your mother and Jacquetta for mine?”_

She always loved the way he said his _‘J’_ names, like a real Orlesian.

_I’m not naming her after anyone. It would be too hard to keep track of who was who. But I like Julienne._

She could hear him laughing at her attempt at the accent. She had never been good at Orlesian. It had barely been part of her upbringing - she had only started when her parents realized they would not produce a male heir.

 _Yes, she’ll be Julienne._ She smiled.

_“Will you learn how to say it right?”_

Anne rolled her eyes. _Yes, fine. Just for you._

_“No, for her.”_

Anne smiled, squeezing her belly, Max’s hand was over hers, she could feel it...

People were speaking, the Chancellor had asked for a responsorial canticle. His voice was still the loudest, but now she could hear the sounds of quiet sobbing, of people comforting each other.

Her face, already warm from her tears, grew hot with shame. She was not the only one mourning. She turned her head to look behind her and saw how large the group was, every person illuminated by their little candle or their torch.

She could feel herself slipping into the undertow of her grief and shame.

 _“You can’t go to pieces now,”_ Max said.

_I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this._

It was like he was next to her again, his arm around her as normal. _“That doesn’t matter anymore. You’ll learn. You have to. If nothing, for little Julie.”_

She nodded weakly. _You’re right, you’re always right._

 _“It’s because I’m older.”_ She could hear the smile in his voice.

Someone brushed passed her and Anne realized the soldiers with torches were coming forward to light the pyres.

The rites were over and now it was time for the grieving to leave, when they were ready.

As the heat from the fires grew, she retreated a little up the hill to stand with the other mourners.

Max had always loved singing. It was one of the first things they had learnt they had in common. Smiling weakly, she started under her breath:

 _“A lilac grows on a poisoned thorn_  
_In a dress dirty and torn._  
_Youngin’s a playing, as the black crow flies._  
_Mama’s a-weeping_ _  
Hear the mountains cry.”_

A few of the women near her had joined her.

 _“There was another, a wilder flower_  
_Soft was her heart in its darkest hour_  
_Tears on the ground where her love did die._  
_‘Neath the bloody moon,_ _  
Hear the mountains cry.”_

More were joining in. Anne was surprised, she hadn’t realized it was such a famous song.

 _“Oh dig his grave, narrow and deep,_  
_Set a jug of whiskey by his thirsty feet,_  
_And lay two pieces on his roving eyes,_ _  
Two women wailing, as the mountains cry.”_

Now the valley was carrying their song on the wind, with the sound of the roaring pyres. Anne blew out her candle and bent to place her stone in the snow. Her personal memorial to Max.

As if on cue, others moved forward to do the same. Now they were all singing.

 _“Oh the wind blows weary,_  
_and the willows sigh,_  
_Rivers of sorrow when the mountains cry,_ _  
Rivers of sorrow when the mountains cry.”_

She watched as people placed their rocks all around hers. Soon a real memorial cairn was growing before her eyes. She realized some people were carrying more than one stone - they had lost more than one person in this fight already.

Leliana came forward, placing her stone on the memorial, her eyes never leaving Anne. With an appraising look, she said, “That was well handled.”

Anne shifted, unsure of what the woman meant.

People began to make their way back to the village, but Anne wasn’t ready. It felt as though there was nowhere to go. She could go back to Ostwick, or even to Ansburg. But what was even waiting there for her now?

The Breach leered above her. At least it wasn’t spitting volleys of green over the valley anymore. But the light it gave was almost as bright as the two moons, dampening their own light. _The heavens are corrupted,_ she thought in horrified wonder. Anne looked down at her hand. It bloomed with the same green light. It was strange to see her own hand giving light in darkness. Was she corrupted too?

Her body had never been touched by magic before, but she felt no different now, only more tired. Perhaps that was the pregnancy, though? Who could tell…

Mother.

Widow.

The words echoed through her mind. Somehow they too felt tired, like a trail worn into the ground by Maker knew how many women before her. Tonight wasn’t the night for her to decide her future. It was a memorial.

The memory came before Anne could stop it - dancing a reel at their wedding, Max laughing because _she_ was laughing. She had felt so light, so happy in that moment. All her nerves at marrying a man she barely knew defeated by Max’s laugh.

Tears ran silently down her cheeks. Someone had done this to her. Someone had taken Max from her. And she hated them for it.

But hate wasn’t enough. It was nothing without action.

 _Tomorrow,_ she thought. _Tomorrow I will start._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is ["When the Mountains Cry"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gscWMfipKM), with some lyrical changes.


End file.
